Escaping Demons
by BunnyGoBoom
Summary: This is the sequel to Cupid's Arrow.
1. News of Nanda Parbat

May 2033

The sound of high heels clicking on the dull gray tiles echoed down the hall. The woman making those purposeful strides was stern-faced and steely-eyed, an expression that suited her graying, mousy hair pinned in a tight bun at the base of her neck. A man in uniform entered from an adjoining hallway, hesitant to address her.

"I'm missing dress shopping with my daughter, Hilford." she stated with a hint of annoyance. "You better have a good reason for calling me here."

He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "We're trying to verify a rumor."

The woman made a show of turning around and he caught her by the arm. She took a deep breath through her nose. "If you brought me here just to sift through—"

"I want you present during an interrogation."

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He let go of her arm.

"As a reserve member of alpha team, your clearance allows you full disclosure of high-level operations." he continued to explain.

"That's not an excuse for you to drag me here."

"No," Hilford admitted. "But I think you'll want to hear this."

Interest peaked, she followed him down the length of the hall and turned left, stopping in front of a one-way mirror that showed into a small room. Inside was a man. His hands and legs were bound to a metal chair bolted to the concrete floor. What caught her attention were his clothes.

"I've never seen this interrogation room before."

"It's more secure than the one we have above ground. We never use this one."

"Probably because we've never captured an assassin before." she said, crossing her arms. "Why is he in here instead of a pine box?"

"He knows something."

"Oh, I would think so," she snapped. "League members know lots of things. Doesn't mean we take them to HQ."

"We heard rumors of a massacre in Nanda Parbat. This guy was one of the few that were out on assignment when it happened."

"So the League took a bunch of people and killed them. They were probably celebrating Nyssa's birthday or something."

"Nyssa's dead." Hilford looked her in the eye, willing her to understand. "Two weeks ago, the League of Assassins was slaughtered and Nanda Parbat is now little more than a charred husk. He and a few other members have seen the aftermath."

She took a moment to digest the information. When she was finished she picked her jaw up off the floor and adjusted her large glasses. "Why would he tell us anything?"

"Because he knows we weren't involved." Hilford rolled his shoulders. The woman wondered if he was afraid. "No government agency was. None of them are crazy enough to attempt that, even as a joint effort."

"It's so crazy that it's even against protocol."

"Which is why he's agreed to share information in hopes that we can help. He thinks whoever's responsible is a rival group of assassins."

She bit her thumb anxiously. "Since when can anyone rival the League? There's no group on record who could match them in number or skill."

"They could be new,"

"Wonderful."

"This guy is the most information we'll get about what happened, since no one can go observe the crime scene. So I suggest you get started."

The woman turned fractionally to face him. "I'm hardly qualified."

Hilford tried not to smile. "None of our interrogators are team members, so they're unequipped to handle assassins. And you know I'm not a people person. Don't worry, you'll do fine."

Tossing a glare his way, she gripped the black door's cold handle. "Remind me to file a complaint with Director Smoak."

"Go ahead," Hilford smirked while maintaining his perfect military posture. "He's the one who asked for you."

The prisoner's eyes locked on the woman entering the room. Her dark blue pantsuit complemented her serious demeanor and plain brown glasses. She could've easily passed for a businesswoman or even a librarian, yet he could feel the need to fear her.

The feeling solidified when he looked into her eyes. Ferocity burned there like a small blue flame.

"My name is Felicity Queen and I will be your interrogator." Her stare was steady and cruel. "What is your name?"

"They called me Baqir." he answered with a mild Tibetan accent. "You are a rich man's wife. They must worry about you being alone with such a dangerous man."

"Let's cut the bullshit and skip to the good part," she demanded as she paced around him slowly. "Spill your guts or I'll spill them all over this floor."

He squirmed slightly, trying to get comfortable. "No need for such intimidation. I wish to tell you all that I know."

Her eyes narrowed. "I've met League members before, and you seem to lack that certain air of dignity and fearlessness."

His expression darkened. "They have been replaced with despondency, and you will know why soon enough.

"I saw the smoke. I thought perhaps it was a funeral pyre—"

Mrs. Queen couldn't help letting out a small chuckle. "And you were right."

The assassin would've clenched his jaw. "I saw the destruction as I approached. The walls and gates were still intact, so I did not know of the bodies until I entered the city."

"How many?"

"Fifty-two bodies were found. I do not know how many assassins were on assignment at the time."

"And everyone in Nanda Parbat is an assassin?"

"Yes." It was difficult to tell if he wanted to scream or cry. "All of them dead. There are only eight of us now. Some are likely to find new employers."

"I thought there was only one way to leave the League."

"Which is why I welcome what awaits me after this interrogation."

She nodded slowly. "So, could some of those bodies be the enemy?"

"No. Every body was identified as a League member, though not a specific one. Although it is possible the enemy took their dead with them. What disturbed us most were no signs of firearms."

"Everyone was killed with swords?"

"Yes. Also evidence of knives, shurikens, arrows, and blunt instruments. Four had broken necks."

Her heels clicking on the concrete were the only sound for a moment. "Sounds like most of the fighting was up close."

"Whoever did this should be on the top of your agency's most-wanted list."

"Their ability to kill Nyssa does that automatically."

The man hung his head. "To find our leader murdered crushed my spirit. Hers was the only body that hadn't burned."

Mrs. Queen stopped in front of him. "Do you think that was intentional?"

He sighed and looked at her. "That was the strangest part. Rivals would mutilate her body as a sign of dominance, but hers bore only a single wound under her ribs. And she was on her bed with her arms crossed over her chest." Emotion finally made his voice thick. "And she was covered by a shroud."

She bent down until they were eye level. "Baqir, is there any League member capable of this?"

He smiled incredulously. "Why would you ask that?"

"The display of Nyssa's body sounds like contrition."

Something flashed in the assassin's eyes. He swallowed hard. "They… then why were the others not treated the same way?"

A chill ran down Felicity's spine. "Because Nyssa was special. She had to die, but she was still special."

Baqir growled angrily in Arabic. Felicity only knew a handful of Arabic words, and "traitor" was one of them. The word spewed from his mouth every other sentence as he became more and more enraged. It seemed he had figured out who was responsible for the massacre in Nanda Parbat.

Fortunately, so had she.

And she couldn't have him blurting it out to her superiors.

"Thank you, Baqir," she whispered in his ear before snapping his neck.

"The hell was that?" Hilford demanded as she exited the room. "He was just about to—"

"I know the next place to look for answers." she stated, cutting him off. "I know those interrogations get recorded and I couldn't let anyone know until I've checked it out first."

His eyes narrowed. "Who are you protecting?"

"Technically no one, since I might be wrong. But I couldn't take the chance in there." Felicity marched away from him, eager to leave. He followed.

"Where are you going?"

"Let's just say I won't be back in time to help Penny find a prom dress."

* * *

><p><strong>"Black Betty" by Ram Jam.<strong>


	2. Shadow of a Doubt

It was dark by the time Felicity stepped out on to the curb in front of Sara's house. The Queens had visited several times over the years, but she was always taken aback by the cuteness of the townhouse. Daisies grew in the window boxes, complementing the light blue color of the house.

To think that an ex-assassin lives here.

Felicity quickly ascended the stairs, but hesitated when she was on the porch. What if she was right? Surely the Furies wouldn't _actually _kill her… She _did_ do them a favor, after all. That is, if it had really been her. She straightened her blazer and reached for the brass knocker, but the door opened before she could grasp it.

Standing before her was a seventeen-year-old girl with windblown, golden hair and big blue eyes. "Aunt Felicity? Why didn't you call first?"

"Wendy! Um… Surprise!" she replied awkwardly. "I was in the neighborhood and I thought—"

"Felicity?" The girl's father appeared behind her, holding a massive bowl of popcorn. "It's not like you to come without calling. Is everything okay?"

"Of course. I didn't mean to worry everyone. I just need to talk to Sara. Also, uh… where was she two weeks ago?"

Father and daughter exchanged a glance.

"Who's at the door?" Sara was coming down the stairs, her wet hair making tiny spots on her old S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt.

"Felicity's here to see you," said her husband.

Sara smiled. "Invite her in, then."

"I hadn't meant to make them so nervous," Felicity said as she got comfortable on Wendy's bed. Sara sensed it might be a tense conversation, so she insisted on showing her Wendy's prom dress. Kicking herself for having to work instead of finding a dress with her own daughter, Felicity touched the intricate floral beading at the hemline. "This is very pretty, by the way."

"I think it was the twentieth dress she tried on," Sara responded. "which wasn't so bad considering how fast she can move. The shoes, though…" Sara gestured to the open shoebox that held glittering stilettos. "Well, you know how particular she is about shoes."

"Penny's just as bad. She demands perfection when it comes to her combat boots." Felicity swallowed and put her hands in her lap. "Sara, I need you to be honest. I only want to protect you. Did you have anything to do with what happened in Nanda Parbat?"

Sara looked genuinely confused, and Felicity breathed a sigh of relief.

"What happened?"

"Now I'm hoping you can help me figure that out. Two weeks ago, everyone in Nanda Parbat was slaughtered."

"Why would you think I was involved?" Felicity watched the conflicting emotions dance on Sara's face.

"Because of the way Nyssa was killed."

"What?" Sara took a deep breath. "I know things ended badly, but I would never… How do you know Nyssa's dead?"

"A League member was interrogated. He said he was one of the few on assignment when it happened, and when he came back… They have no idea who did it. Neither do I, but when he said Nyssa was killed at very close range and that her body was laid out respectfully on her bed, I thought it might be you. And I thought he thought it too, and I couldn't have him saying your name because it would go on record and I didn't know what they would do to you."

Sara was near tears as she crossed her arms. "Well, I had nothing to do with it." She sat down beside Felicity. "It was someone on the inside, wasn't it? No one could have breached Nanda Parbat."

"Then why didn't that occur to Baqir at first?"

There was a flicker of recognition in Sara's eyes. "He was a senior member, loyal to the point of being brainwashed. Dissent was the worst crime you could commit in the League; anyone suspected was instantly killed. It wouldn't have even occurred to him that a group of dissenters would've formed, let alone succeeded."

"So you think it was a coup? Even with how they treated Nyssa?"

"It's likely that they would've respected her regardless."

"Well, dammit. I probably killed Baqir too soon. He really might've known who did it."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "What did he say, exactly?"  
>"I only understood the word 'traitor' when he started ranting in Arabic. The Furies have translators figuring out the rest."<p>

She nodded. "Well, let me know if I can help. Whoever's capable of this is too dangerous to leave alone."

Suddenly Felicity felt guilty for bringing this to her. Sara had been about to sit down to a movie with her family when official Furies business came in and stirred up the past. "I should get going. Barry and Wendy must want to start the movie."

"Don't feel bad," Sara assured, putting her hand on her friend's shoulder. "We're still waiting on Wally."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Speak of the devil," Felicity said with a smirk.

"You're late," Sara teased before opening the door.

"Astoundingly, yes." A slim young man with unruly red hair and a sprinkling of freckles stood at the door, cradling a grocery bag overflowing with candy. "I was indecisive at the store."

"So you went ahead and bought everything." said Felicity, stepping into view.

"Mrs. Q!" Wally exclaimed, grinning. "You here for the movie?"

"Sorry, dear, I only came to speak with Sara." she responded, patting him on the arm as she passed him on her way out.

"Was it work related? Penny said you ditched her for work." Wally called after her. He winced in regret when she turned around. "Uh, not that she was mad or anything. She totally understood. Pretty psyched that Digglet got to take her since you couldn't."

Mrs. Queen smiled. "It's good to have her home from college, isn't it? Well, I'll let you get on with your movie."

"You sure you don't want to stay? I think it's that really old movie where that guy sings 'Twist and Shout' on a parade float."

Before she could reply to Wally, her phone rang. "Sorry," she said waving it in front of him. "I'm busy. Tell Barry and Wendy bye for me, please." She watched Sara and Wally enter the house as she answered her phone. It was Kyle.

"Hey, it wasn't Sara. Do we have any other leads?"

"In spite of you killing the only one we had? Yes."

"And?" she asked as she hailed a cab.

"It took a while to sort out that rage-induced tirade, but the translators managed to make it coherent. Baqir kept talking about Nyssa's shadow."

"What?"

"Weird, right? He kept calling Nyssa's shadow a traitor and cursed him in a dozen different ways before you snapped his neck."

"So, does 'he' even have a name?"

"If he does, Baqir never said it."

"So all we've got is a shadow. Great." A cab finally stopped and she got in.

"Also got proof that your hunch was right."

"Which hunch?" she asked after telling the cab driver to go to the airport.

"That contrition thing. You know, like the person who killed her felt sorry about it. Baqir said something like, 'you were her light, and you betrayed her.' Maybe it was her boyfriend, then."

Felicity's face scrunched in thought. "I didn't know she swung that way, but I guess that could work."

"Too bad you killed Baqir."

"Shut _up_, Kyle. And don't bother me unless you really need me." she snapped before hanging up.


	3. Chronic Wound

The mansion was as quiet as a mausoleum when Felicity entered the foyer. It usually unnerved her to roam the mansion at night, but she was too distracted by her thoughts.

That fact that Nyssa was murdered was what made the whole situation even more terrifying. The massacre at Nanda Parbat, sure, that was cause for alarm. But Nyssa was such a complete badass that it was hard to process her being killed by someone. She killed Ra's Al Ghul (an even BIGGER badass) and took over the League of Assassins. Who could possibly manage to get the slip on someone like that? Who the hell was her shadow?

The stairs creaked as she climbed them, the atmosphere feeling like a suspenseful scene in a horror movie. Even the old paintings contributed to the vibe. Not that she noticed.

Why should she even care at all? Sara had explained it perfectly. They didn't need to know who the dissenters were, did they? Was it really that important? But how could a dissenter get so close to Nyssa? And why were they all dissenting anyway? Was it a general hatred of authority? Probably. And what about that guy, though? _What about that damn shadow_? Okay, so maybe he fell for Nyssa, pledged fealty or whatever, and she ended up breaking his heart? That almost made sense. She totally would've realized he was into her, though. That would've made her alert, right? So she would've been careful around a guy like that. So who the hell was this guy?

Felicity gasped quite girlishly as something brushed past her leg. Then a huge pair of glowing eyes stared at her from about five feet up the wall.

Dammit. Jelly Donut was climbing the curtains again.

"Bad kitty," she whispered as she pried him off. The tiny, flat-faced, fluffy potato thing that Penny had found in an alley let out a wheezy hiss before complying and curling up against Felicity's shoulder. After walking a few feet, she set him down and he sprinted off to either take a nap or kill something.

A soft blue glow was coming from under Tommy's closed door. It was a Sunday night, technically Monday morning, and a thirteen year old should not be up so late. She carefully opened it to see that he had only left the computer on. He was sleeping like an adorable, drooling angel. The blue glow was just enough light to show a bruise on his eye; he said he'd gotten it from training, but she had her doubts. She closed the door and continued on her way.

The hinges whined softly as she opened the door to her own bedroom. Oliver was fast asleep, his silhouette outlined by the soft twinkle lights from the backyard. She did her best not to wake him as she crept to the master bathroom to get ready for bed. When she was finished, he still hadn't moved. Carefully, she slipped into bed, moved to take off her glasses—

"Eeep!" she squealed as Oliver's muscular arms pulled her close, his short white beard scratching as he nuzzled her neck.

"What kept you?" he asked quietly as she snuggled into his embrace.

"Fury duty,"

He tickled her side and she giggled. "I need details. You were gone longer than I'd expected."

"Are you torturing me for information?"

"Mm-hmm," he kissed her cheek. "Especially since Sara let me know you dropped by."

Felicity took a moment to peck him on the lips before answering. "And she didn't tell you why?"

"Nope."

She took in the sight of her husband, still gorgeous and ripped at nearly fifty years old. "But if I tell you, it'll ruin the mood."

He beamed. "Tell me in the morning, then?"

She nodded, and they went at it like teenagers so loudly that the noises would've traumatized their children had they been awake.

Tommy rested his head on the dining room table, wincing as his bruise hit the mahogany. He was exhausted, but he couldn't fall asleep because he had to leave for school in a few minutes. Stupid parents. They should've let him soundproof their room.

The sound of his cereal bowl sliding across the table caused him to look up. He turned to see his sister crunching remorselessly on his stolen Lucky Charms.

"Mine," he said groggily.

She smiled and pushed the bowl towards him. "I'll ask Digglet to stop at Starbucks on the way to school."

"You're an angel," he mumbled, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.

"So when is Daddy taking you to get your tux for prom?"

That woke him up a bit. He rolled his eyes. "I still don't think you need to go with me, especially when every guy in school wants to be your date."

"But no one else would go with you!"

Tommy slumped in his chair.

"Sorry. I know it's been tough being a thirteen-year-old junior. All the other girls think it'd be too weird to go with someone so much younger—"

"I could still go with Rosie," he argued. "I know she's older than me but she's still only a freshman."

"Trading in your sister for your cousin? I don't think that'll help much. And I doubt she could keep your bullies at bay as well as I could."

"I can handle them just fine by myself." he grumbled.

"Sure you can," she replied, poking his bruise.

"Ow,"

"Seriously, just let me at 'em,"

"None of us is allowed to fight as civilians. You know that."

"Otherwise they wouldn't be bothering you at all."

"I can deal with it." he said through a mouthful of tiny marshmallows. "Just leave it alone."

Her bubblegum-pink lips curled into a smile. "I think they need a visit from the Scary Canary."

"Penny, _no_."

"Then go to prom with me."

Tommy sighed. "Promise to take a real date to senior prom?"

"Absolutely."

"Fine. Just quit bugging me and let me fight my own battles."

Being the silly girly-girl that she was, Penny giggled in triumph as she bounced in her seat.

Then Tommy got a really good idea. "Actually, let's sweeten the deal a bit."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she adjusted the pink, rhinestone-covered bow in her hair. "What do you have in mind?"

"You have to take Damian to senior prom."

Penny's jaw dropped. "That little shit you call a best friend? But he's the same age as you are. I thought you wanted me to take a real date."

"First of all, you're not allowed to curse unless you have your mask on." Tommy pointed out, because he was also a little shit. "Secondly, he's not related to you and he'll be fourteen and a half by then. I'd say he qualifies."

"Is this some kind of revenge? Because I just wanted to make sure you didn't miss out on prom."

"This is a favor to my best friend, who has a massive crush on you."

Penny's overtly beautiful face twisted in confusion. "That little asshole—ugh, that little jerk has a crush on _me_? When did that happen?"

"Probably when he met you, but I think it really hit him when you spent last summer in Gotham. He was furious when he was telling me about you kissing Tim."

"Which was the best first kiss _ever_." Then the guilt settled in. "I totally had no idea. Know what? Fine. We have a deal. But his punk ass better be gentlemanly, you got that?"

Tommy had stopped paying attention though, because their father had entered the room.

"Morning, peanut," he greeted, kissing his daughter on the top of her head.

"Morning, Daddy,"

Then Oliver turned to Tommy, who was glaring at him. "You don't look like you slept well last night."

"A ruckus woke me up."

Oliver tried not to smile; this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. "A ruckus?"

"Yeah. So please do me a favor and either soundproof your bedroom or stop screwing Mom on school nights."

"Soundproofing is a potential safety hazard and the other thing is impossible, so how about we move you to a room farther away from ours?"

"Works for me," he said with a shrug.

Then Oliver noticed what his daughter was(n't) wearing. "Penelope Violet Queen, why aren't you wearing a shirt?!"

"Chill out, Dad. It's not a bra, it's a bustier. It counts as a shirt."

"I don't like it."

"Yeah, 'cause you're a good father. Unfortunately, the paparazzi expect Penny Queen to be a flirty, somewhat rebellious airhead. I have to give the lemmings what they want in order to keep up appearances."

Appearances were very important in the Queen family. "Let me see the rest of it,"

Penny stood up, and Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Along with the pink lacy thing she insisted wasn't a bra, she wore light pink, floral-print denim shorts that barely covered anything and five-inch stiletto pumps that she couldn't possibly run in.

Oliver took a deep breath and exhaled. "Do you have any of your civilian weapons just in case?"

Penny popped open her purse that totally looked like a cupcake and pulled out what apparently wasn't a tube of mascara. "Emergency bow staff Tommy made me last year."

"Good. Now go to school before I change my mind."

She nodded. "Bye, Daddy," Penny pecked him on the cheek before scurrying out of the room, her gold bracelets clinking faintly. Tommy hugged him and raced after his sister. A second later, he poked his head back into the room.

"Dad, did I really hear Mom call you 'Killer Lime' last night?"

"Go to school, Tommy."

Felicity was descending the stairs when she saw her children heading out the door.

"I don't get a goodbye?" she called after them.

With surprisingly little grace given their shared hobby, the kids spazzed their way back into the foyer and raced to their mother.

"We assumed you'd be sleeping in," Penny said, hugging her.

"And not just because you got in late." added Tommy.

Ignoring his comment, Felicity held him close and looked at her daughter. "I'm so sorry about the—"

"Mom, seriously. It's okay. Grandpa wouldn't let you get called in unless it was crazy important. Anyway, I got to spend time with Digglet, who should be here any second."

She wished her kids a good day at school and watched them walk out the door.

"You look lovely this morning," Oliver complimented when he entered the foyer. Felicity wore a fitted, soft pink knee-length dress with matching kitten heels, an outfit that went well with her hair pinned to the side.

"And you fill out that suit better than you should," she said as she straightened his tie.

He freed a strand of hair from her dull pink lipstick. "So, do you want to tell me what the Furies wanted?"

She told him everything, including what happened with the Allens and her conversation with her cousin afterward.

"I doubt Nyssa had a boyfriend," he commented.

"I know, right? The only man she had any kind of relationship with was her father, and she killed him to usurp his power. I really don't know who her shadow could be."

Oliver was quiet for a long moment, deep in thought. "Could Nyssa have ever been a mother?"

Felicity burst out laughing. "Did she really strike you as the motherly type?"

"Nearly two decades ago? No. But we hadn't seen her since then. Maybe she changed."

She wasn't convinced. Like, at all. "So Nyssa might've been killed by her adopted son?"

"Or test tube baby." His smirk let her know he realized the incredulity of the idea.

"Right. Yeah, this whole 'son' thing isn't clicking for me at all."

"Ask Sara about it when you get the chance. Or Damian, if the Furies allow it."

"I'll be sure to do that,"

"Ready to go?" he asked, reaching for the door.

"You can go without me," she replied, "I have a few more things to do."

Oliver wasn't fooled by her tone. "If you're going to do what I think you're going to do, then I want to go with you."

She blushed a little and looked away, knowing she'd been caught. "You really don't have to. In fact, I probably shouldn't. Let's just go to work." But her husband gently grabbed her arm before she could reach the door.

"Felicity," he breathed, making eye contact. "It's okay."

Hesitantly, she took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's go, then."

The grass was wet as they silently strolled towards the big oak tree with its three tombstones beside it. The simpler ones were for Oliver's parents. Beneath the tree was a smaller one with a life-size marble angel. Her white curls hung carelessly as she wept into her folded arms, which rested on top of the stone as she knelt beside it. The inscription was intentionally ambiguous:

_Robert Oliver Queen_

_Taken from us the day of his birth_

_October 9, 2013_

Even after five years, Felicity still hated that stupid fucking tombstone; not for its design, but for its purpose. She and Oliver had been pressured into commissioning that damn thing when Robbie was fifteen. Some PR bullshit about closure, or at least appearing to have closure. It had been long enough, and it was starting to look bad, blah, blah, blah. So Felicity and Oliver acquiesced. They were so sure he was dead? Fine. Then he was getting one hell of a tombstone.

Felicity wrapped her arms around her husband's waist, and he hugged her close.

"Another nightmare last night?" he asked

"In a way," she rested her head on his chest. "It was one of those happy ones that make me cry when I wake up." her eyes were beginning to water. "He was out here, playing with Penny and Tommy the way Connor does."

Oliver kissed her forehead. "I had a nightmare before you got home last night. The same kind I've been having since we got this tombstone."

She looked into his eyes. "How bad was it this time?"

"I've had worse." He sighed, trying to smile but his lip was quivering too much. "Robbie was stuck on the Lian Yu, like always, and it was dark and cold and he had no one to help him…" Oliver took a moment to regain his composure. "And he was freezing because the wood was too wet to start a fire and he kept saying over and over that he had to survive so he could get home."

Felicity wiped his tears as she felt her own run down her cheeks. "You could've told me last night."

"I didn't want to bother you with it."

"I guess that's why you were so cuddly and wanted sex."

He chuckled. "You got me," Oliver used his pocket square to dab at his wife's eyes. "By the way, have I mentioned how much I hate that fucking tombstone?"

She grinned briefly. "I know how you feel. Unfortunately, it hurts more to look at the ultrasound."

Oliver almost started crying again. "That's true,"

After they had cleaned each other up, they went back inside, back to pretending their pain had faded long ago.

Back to ignoring the gaping hole in their lives.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Dream On" by Aerosmith<strong>


	4. The New Trend

"You think Arrowette is going to fight any crime tonight?" Penny asked casually while flipping through the stations, making Digglet smile. "'Cause I bet the Scary Canary will want some backup."

"Since when does the Canary fight on a school night?"

"Since her buddy Arrowette convinced their parents to allow it."

Penny's pouty, pleading face was almost enough to sway her.

"Hmm… Nope."

"Curse your iron will!" Penny spouted dramatically with a hint of humor. "I hardly _ever_ get to fight crime! I have to be all sporadic to throw people off but Connor and Uncle Roy get to go out almost every night! I haven't done it in almost three weeks!"

"And I haven't done it since I left for college in August. I bet we could get the okay for this weekend."

"You think so?"

"Just say the word, Tweety Bird,"

Content, Penny leaned back in her seat and listened to the chorus of Emperor Cupcake and the Willy Nillies' latest hit single. Then a question occurred to her.

"You really didn't get to fight at all?"

Digglet shrugged. "I was told to leave it to the resident vigilantes. I think that's the general rule unless you're invited to help."

Penny got all dreamy-eyed. "Yeah, those Supers can totally hold their own. And I've been meaning to ask, did Connor Kent say anything about me? You said things were looking promising when you came home on winter break."

"Huh?" Digglet said, feigning distraction as she switched lanes.

Penny turned off the music, which meant the only background noise was the sound of Tommy sucking down his coffee behind them.

"Connor Kent. You know, a lot like the unbelievably wonderful Clark Kent only younger and broodier and less powerful and more available."

"And probably the only guy that gives her a serious lady boner," Tommy added after another sip.

"Yes, thank you," Penny acknowledged. "It's also one of my life goals to bear his beautiful superbabies. Did he ask about me?"

"Oh… Right. Um… We didn't really talk much." Digglet answered, still paying way too much attention to the road. "Freshman year. A lot of adjusting. Studied most of the time. And he's not the kind of guy to talk about his feelings."

Penny's eyes narrowed, and she shared a glance with her brother. "What are you hiding?"

For a long moment, Digglet said nothing.

"He's kind of into someone right now," she admitted, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

That did so not compute. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Her name's Cassie. Diana introduced them in January."

"I was betrayed by Wonder Woman?"

"No, she was just… I don't know. They make sense, okay? Cassie's, like, sturdy."

"_Sturdy_?" Penny's temperature was rising. "So I'm not compatible with him because I'm normal? That's such bull! Clark is with Lois and she's even more fragile than I am!" Penny started to frantically fan herself in order to keep from crying. "Did he even like me?"

"Penny, _everyone_ likes you," she stated consolingly.

That barely worked. Sniffling, she turned to her brother. "Can I please have some of that iced frappe-mocha-choca-latte thing?"

He obliged, especially since he was already feeling jittery.

"Maybe when he feels more in control of his powers, he'll have the courage to ask you out." Tommy offered.

"Think that might be it?"

"Totally could be," Digglet grinned. "I mean, think about it. That guy could smash your pelvis into a million pieces with a single thrust."

"_I am in the car!"_ Tommy announced aggressively.

"But that could easily be avoided if I were on top." argued Penny, completely ignoring her horrified brother. "I think contraception would be a bigger issue. I'm sure that latex wouldn't hold up. I can't have, like, _thirty_ of his babies, you know? Twenty-nine's my limit."

"Mr. Kent might have an answer," suggested Digglet as she made the final turn. "He must use something. Kryptonite condoms? Is that a thing?"

"Are you suggesting that Mr. Kent rolls glowing latex poison on his dick in order to have sex with Lois?"

The girls _still_ hadn't noticed that Tommy was discreetly recording their conversation with his phone.

"The box the condoms come in would have to be lined with lead! Or at least the little foils would be," Digglet commented.

Penny snorted. "And the foils have 'S' shields on them!"

"And tiny red capes,"

They were lucky that the school was in view, because the girls were laughing so hard that Digglet could barely control the car.

"And… send." Tommy mumbled to himself with a smirk.

The undisputed queen of Starling High stepped out of the car and into her kingdom. Her wealth and good looks had guaranteed her the throne since freshman year, and as an upperclassman her role as Queen Bee was official. As tiresome as ruling was, Penny held tightly to her position: there were way too many vicious bitches who wanted the crown. So she wasn't so much as clinging to sovereignty as she was preventing a reign of terror.

Tommy was by her side as two sophomore boys opened the doors for them. The halls were crammed with students that hastily made way for their queen and her brother. Greetings and catcalls alike rang out while Penny smiled and waved.

Then she noticed something very wrong.

What had been a rare occurrence last week was now a full-blown fad. It seemed that more than half of the school was wearing a vintage _Find Robbie_ t-shirt, or one with a related message. Penny fought hard to keep her smile as she spotted one shirt after another: _Never Forget: 10-9-2013_ was popular among the general student body; most of the cheer squad wore _I Heart Robbie Queen_ in varying colors and styles; the shirts with a picture of Robbie's grave were uncomfortably prevalent; relevant articles from twenty years ago served as a graphic design on many of them, with headlines like "QUEEN BABY: DEAD OR ALIVE?" and "CHANGELING EPIDEMIC" stamped across the chest. Feeling her smile waver, she looked to Tommy. His placid expression was completely intact, but his grip on his backpack straps was turning his knuckles white.

They made it to their neighboring lockers with hardly a crack in their veneer.

"_This is cruel._" Penny said in Chinese, just in case anyone overheard. "_And it's not even the anniversary yet. Why would they do this now?_"

"_Disaster month." _Tommy responded as he shoved books into his locker. "_And unfortunately this generation is detached from the event, unlike their parents. They see it more as a local legend rather than a tragedy."_

Penny made a show of touching up her lipstick in her locker mirror. "_So they walk around in those shirts as if it shouldn't hurt us?"_

"_I think there's more to it than shirts. You wouldn't believe what I've seen on the internet."_

Before Tommy could elaborate, Rosie and Danny found them.

"So, how's your morning going?" asked Rosie brightly, trying to hide her anxiety.

"I think it's been pretty sucky, as far as Mondays go." Danny commented, using his own method of easing the tension.

"Fletcher makes a good point," noted Penny, glad their little freshmen friends were here. "What do you think, Baby Bro?"

"I think we're in for a long week."

As usual, he was right.

The four of them fought to maintain their unaffected appearance for the next few days. The shirts remained just as abundant, a sight that was more exhausting than expected. Their hope that a teacher would step up and point out the insensitivity dwindled with every class period.

They made it until Thursday at lunch before something bad happened.

"This is getting ridiculous," Rosie mumbled after swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Every member of the faculty is too… I don't know, stupid to tell these kids off. And if we say anything, then we're being too sensitive."

"Penny and I have been more worried about our parents finding out," Tommy said, staring morosely at his chicken nuggets. "We're not sure how much longer we can keep them in the dark."

Danny winced. "Can you imagine if they found out? Hell, even if mine or Rosie's parents found out? They would totally freak."

Penny took a gulp of her chocolate milk. "It's definitely a sorer subject for them."

"For good reason," he replied. "They were all a part of it. Not just the initial… uh…thing, but all that stuff that happened after. The media feeding frenzy, the accusations—"

"The Changeling Epidemic," Tommy interjected.

Their exclusive little table was quiet for a moment.

"Yeah, I don't think they'd take this flippancy very well." Rosie stated.

"I wouldn't blame them for it," mumbled Penny. "It nearly destroyed our parents. Mine and Tommy's, I mean. Not just their marriage but, you know, _them_."

"Rosie's dad told us that Mom turned into something else after it happened. Like she's not even the same person at all." said Tommy.

"I prefer Diggle's version of events over Uncle Roy's though. 'Cause he's not as soft about it." Penny poked at her Jell-O. "He said it was like Mom died when she lost Robbie."

"She probably had postpartum depression," her brother added.

"Postpartum psychosis sounds more accurate, considering the stuff Mom did."

"Which I think depends on your moral stance when evaluating her actions." countered Tommy.

"Is this a Queen-only thing?" questioned Danny. "Because Rosie and I never got the lowdown on year one."

"Pretty much," Penny slumped over her food, her appetite being devoured by her mood.

As if they didn't feel awful enough, Jaleb Hempy came to their table, standing over them with an air of unwarranted confidence.

"Here we go," Rosie grumbled quietly.

"So, I noticed that none of you have been wearing a Robbie tee," Jaleb started, sneaking a peek down Penny's dress. She was too used to that kind of objectification to care. "I'm surprised. Thought the four of you would be on the bandwagon by now."

"We've got enough memorabilia at home, thanks." Tommy answered with a mirthless smile.

"And as freshmen we're not supposed to be very cool anyway," Rosie added.

"You agree with her, Fletcher?" Jaleb asked, tossing his longish dark hair out of his face.

Danny eyed the infamous warehouse on Jaleb's t-shirt. "I'm a total dork, man. I couldn't pull it off."

Shrugging, he turned to Penny, who didn't look up to dealing with this shit. "How about the fashion icon?" he cajoled, checking out her floral-print mini dress. "Isn't Penny Queen supposed to be tuned in to all the latest trends?"

The It Girl of Starling City was poised to snap her plastic spoon in half. "I set trends, I don't follow them."

"You sure?" He wasn't even subtle about ogling her. "I bet you'd look hot in one of those baby tees."

"Nah, I'm good."

"For real, though. You guys gotta get in on this. 'Cause it's _you_ guys, know what I'm sayin'? You're like, a part of it."

"No kidding," Tommy muttered to Rosie.

"Aubergine Acker wants to throw a party on the anniversary." he announced, oblivious to the table's discomfort.

"Omg2 , for realsies?!" Penny responded sarcastically.

Excited, Jaleb took the empty seat at their table. The group tossed each other subtle glances. "Dude, it's gonna be hella rad. Everybody's gonna dress accordingly and the old news footage is gonna play on every TV. And my band's gonna play. We finally decided to call ourselves The Throbbing Cocks. Have you seen us play yet, Penny?"

"Nope," Nor did she ever want to.

"You should totally come to one of our gigs. Our theremin player wrote a song about you called 'Penny's Coinslot.' It's way more respectful than it sounds. The guy's a total poet."

"Yeah, I'll make sure to throw my panties on stage." she deadpanned.

The idiot guitarist took that as a playful tease. "We'd rather you flash us." he flirted. "Oh, I forgot the other thing about the party: theory fiction! Some of that stuff is _so good_, you know? We might be reading the really popular stuff out loud."

He eagerly watched for reactions around the table, but only Tommy knew what he was talking about. He busied himself with poking holes in his unwrapped Twinkie.

"None of you know about theory fiction either? _Dude_, you are _so_ missing out!" He leaned into his reluctant audience. "They're stories people make up about what happened to Robbie Queen. Like, there's infanticide fic which is okay and everything, but the WIR—Where Is Robbie?—stuff is way better. Like, there's this one called _Debauchery_ that is by far the best one ever and it's where he was like sold to this madam in Markovia and she raised him to be one of her whores because he's bound to be really pretty, right? And there's all this smut about him deep-throating EU politicians and plowing rich lonely housewives and attending orgies and stuff. Everybody loves that one. Aubergine and Nevada said they've each read it like twenty times."

How was Jaleb Hempy not dead? How was it possible that he was not choking on his own blood as a plastic knife jutted from his spouting, severed carotid?

"That's my big brother." Penny stated in a barely calm tone. "And Tommy's big brother. And Rosie's cousin. Do you really think we want to read about him deep-throating anybody?"

Jaleb scoffed. "What, are you offended?"

"Yeah, little bit," Danny answered for the table.

"Why? He was taken before any of us were born. He pretty much doesn't even count as your brother if you've never met him."

"My mom did," Aw, shit. Penny was bringing the heavy stuff to the table. "And then when she passed out from blood loss, Robbie's kidnapper cut the cord and she never saw him again. So maybe you should be more respectful towards my mom's son."

That didn't even cause a dent in his apathy. He actually laughed. "You strut around with your big blonde hair and big beautiful boobs like nothing can get to you, but you're just a sensitive little rich bitch. Your mom's healthy, wealthy, her marriage is still intact, and she's got two more kids and even a replacement son. But oh, she lost her newborn two decades ago before she could even bond with him. Boo-fucking-hoo. She should be over it by now."

"The fuck you just say about my mom?" Penny said in a low, deadly tone. Her friends knew that if she'd slipped on her no-swears rule, then the Canary was close to busting out of her cage.

Not that Jaleb knew about the rule. He was almost proud that he could piss her off so much. "I said she needs to move the fuck on. It was probably for the best, anyway. I bet Robbie would never want to know that his little sister looks like one of those expensive sex dolls that middle-aged pervs order off the internet—"

Danny slammed his slice of peanut butter pie in Jaleb's face. Which, to be honest, was lucky for Jaleb; Penny was ready to snap his femur like a muthafuckin' kit-kat.

"BRO!" Jaleb bellowed, standing up in outrage.

"You're a massive douchewad, Jaleb!"Danny shouted, standing up as well. "Get the hell away from our table!"

With a grunt, Jaleb scooped up a handful of Penny's mashed potatoes and hurled it at Danny. His aim totally sucked. The lumpy projectile soared over the ducking freshman and hit a cheerleader's designer purse sitting on the floor.

"You cum-smothered dickburger!" she screeched, catapulting a hastily aimed pudding cup in Jaleb's direction.

"FOODFIGHT!"

No one knows who yelled it, but it was the shot heard 'round the cafeteria. Ketchup-covered chaos erupted before the lunch monitor could tear herself away from the erotic fanfiction on her tablet, at which point her yelling was completely ineffective.

Jaleb landed a sucker punch on Danny's jaw, and their altercation turned into a full-on fistfight. Penny, Tommy, and Rosie took refuge under their table and cheered Danny on as he pretended not to know how to totally kick ass.

Penny had forgotten that Connor was picking her up after school. Ugh, that meant he'd see the shirts! Tommy was tutoring half the football team so he didn't have to endure Connor's reaction, but she would get a front-row seat. It would so not be okay if he knew what was going on at school. Her big brother was like, _there_. He showed up just a year and a half after the major event went down, and it was like, _bad_. He was six years old then so he totally remembered stuff. And there was all this really awful emotional crap that her mom had to deal with when he showed up… Penny was never given all the details, but it had definitely been brutal.

She stood on the curb with her backpack and purse, her hair and clothes smeared with edible ammunition.

Connor rolled up on his vintage Ducati looking like a swarthy, hella-ripped James Dean. Usually he'd get a kick out of the swooning teenage girls, but Penny hoped he wouldn't bother to look around.

He took off his helmet. "The hell happened to you?"

"Teenagers are massive a-holes, that's what happened. Can we get going?"

"You're going to deny me the amusement of watching these girls drool over me?" Connor teased with a devastating grin.

"They don't deserve to behold your beauty anyway. Let's go."

But it was already too late: Connor's smile had fallen. "The hell is this?"

"The new trend," she answered, swinging her leg over his bike. "Been going on all week."

"Explains your mood recently," He grimaced. "Heartless little bastards."

"Can we please go now?" she pleaded, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Does your mom know about this? Or Dad?" Connor asked, genuinely worried.

"I don't think so,"

"Good." He handed her the spare helmet, then donned his own. "Wanna take the long way home?"

"That'd be awesome."

* * *

><p>"<strong>Rill Rill" by Sleigh Bells for entering Starling High<strong>

"**Teenagers" by My Chemical Romance for the cafeteria carnage.**

**Do any of you like fancasting? I like fancasting. I want one for each new character but I'm having trouble figuring all of them out. If any of you are interested, I'd like suggestions even for the ones I have done already.**

**Penny - Kate Upton. She was adorable in **_**The Other Woman**_**, okay?**

**Tommy – Sean Giambrone. He's that little dork from **_**The Goldbergs.**_

**Digglet - Madeleine Mantock. She was Astrid Finch on **_**The Tomorrow People**_

**Rosie – Mackenzie Foy. She was Renesmee. Don't judge her for it.**

**Danny – Ian Nelson. You **_**Teen Wolf **_**fans should know who he is.**

**Connor – I don't know please help me.**

**Wendy – Dove Cameron. Disney brat.**

**Wally – Dylan O'Brien. Because I said so.**

**Robbie – Why would he even need one? He's probably dead. **

**Fancasts for Damian, Tim, Connor Kent, Cassie Sandsmark and anyone else mentioned are welcomed. **

**Love you guys!**


	5. A Nice Family Dinner

The next night was family dinner, which never meant just the Queens; the Diggles, the Harpers, the Fletchers, and Police Chief Lance were always invited, and they always came. What was just as constant was the atypical dinner conversations.

"…There's usually a spike in the homicide rate this time of year, but it's still weird." Lance rambled over his plate of lobster alfredo. "I mean, what's with these gunless murders? People use guns. People _like_ guns. It doesn't take much talent to shoot a guy standing in front of you. But no, there're killers out there exhibiting skill. Found a guy with a snapped neck and another with a slit throat. Oh, and you kids need to know about the guy we found in a dumpster a couple hours ago—"

"Dad," Mrs. Fletcher said reproachfully. "We're eating. And I don't think the kids need to hear any of that."

He raised his big gray eyebrows. "Laurel, that Barbie-doll-lookin' thing down there puts on fishnets and beats the crap out of people. The barely pubescent boy to her right routinely hacks government databases. That college freshman has handled a rocket launcher. This little dumplin' over here is going to take up her mother's mantle in two years. Oh, and my own grandson is set to be the next Arsenal within ten years. Are you really gonna tell me these kids can't handle a little homicide?"

The whole table tried to keep from laughing, Mrs. Fletcher included.

"They do need to hear about this one, though." her husband agreed. "The guy went to Starling High." That sobered the table up somewhat.

"Who?" Rosie asked, her mouth full of noodles.

"Jaleb Hempy," Lance answered.

"I didn't do it!" said Danny reflexively.

Mr. Queen's eyes narrowed. "Why would anyone think that?"

"They fought at school yesterday," Penny blurted. "No biggie."

"A _fight _fight? Over what?" Mrs. Queen wondered. "The son of a cop can't go around picking fights."

"I didn't pick it!"

"He didn't." Tommy defended.

"But it was an actual fight, wasn't it?" she questioned. "Because that busted lip sure has me convinced."

"Danny, why would you fight in school?" asked Mrs. Diggle.

"Leave him be, Lyla," said Diggle. "He's young but he's smart enough not to do that without good reason."

"Yes, and it was a very good reason that we can all empathize with. So let's leave it at that." Laurel answered curtly. The other adults nodded and Lance resumed talking.

"Anyway, he really pissed someone off. His tongue was ripped out and then shoved down his throat. The kid choked on his own tongue and blood."

"_EW._" stated Digglet.

"Yep. There were defensive wounds—bruises, scratches—but it was clear that he didn't stand a chance. And Hempy's demolished pink moped was found on top of him."

"Didn't do it," Danny muttered.

"We're thinking it's drug-related," said Captain Fletcher. "Apparently he dealt that variation on vertigo."

"Dizzy," Penny elaborated with a nod. "Yeah, he tried to sell me some once."

"Either he said something he shouldn't or knew something he shouldn't." Lance shrugged. "Dumb kid probably got cocky. Got a bunch of misdemeanors on his record proving he liked trouble. Honestly, I feel worse for his mother."

"I don't know if he deserved to die, but yeah, he was a major douchebag." said Rosie.

Mrs. Queen's phone rang, which was very much against the rules during family dinner. When she saw that it was her cousin, she knew she needed to answer.

"I am so sorry," she apologized. "But this looks important." She stood up and gestured for her husband to follow.

"Hilford, this better be important." she said once they were in the other room.

"Well, I should've told you a few days ago, but we've been running down leads. I thought you might want to know that you were wrong."

She put her phone on speaker. "About what?"

"Nyssa wasn't 100 percent lesbian. At least not for the past three years."

Felicity exchanged a look with her husband.

"I'm sorry what?" Oliver said.

"Oh, hi," Hilford responded, just realizing Oliver was there. "Yeah, she had a guy. Nyssa's always been under surveillance even though we never target the leaders because power vacuums are too messy, and there's a guy. Sorry you didn't know, Felicity, but you've been a reserve member for the past ten years which means you only know what we feel like telling you."

"Nyssa had a dude," she said to herself in shock.

"Nyssa had a dude." her husband echoed in confirmation.

"A young dude, too. He accompanied her on most of her European missions since December of 2030, when she bought him from Comtesse Bécu—"

"_Woah_," Felicity interjected. "Hold up a second. She bought him from—"

"Europe's most notorious Madam." Oliver finished.

Hilford sighed. "Yes. Now will you let me talk? His name is Alexander Deering. Comtesse imported him from England for her. All we have on him is his escort profile, so he might've been sold into this business at a young age. Then again, maybe he was bred into it, judging by his profile. It's not like we need to know everything about Nyssa's European piece anyway."

"And it didn't occur to you that she picked him for a reason?" Oliver remarked. "If she had the same guy for the last three years, then he had to be special to her."

"Right. Let me just send you the profile."

A second later, the picture popped up.

"Huh," Oliver nodded in understanding.

Felicity cleared her throat. "That is a handsome young man. I can see why Nyssa made an exception."

Her husband scanned the profile. "Born January 2013, Six foot two, speaks seven languages—"

"Has a jaw carved by Michelangelo himself," added Felicity.

"It doesn't say that."

"It should say that."

"Are you ogling him?"

"Oliver, I'm old enough to be his mother."

"So was Nyssa."

"Ok, I'm going to go now." announced Hilford. "Should I send the surveillance photos? Felicity sounds like she wants them."

Her husband raised his eyebrows at her. "Well, do you?"

She thought about it long and hard. "Yes."

"How dare you."

His wife rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. It's still weird, isn't it? I get Nyssa making an exception _once_, but for three years? Something's off."

"Maybe she really liked his jawline." taunted Oliver.

"Well maybe she did," she retorted.

"Ok I'm sending them bye." Then there was a _click _and the Queens were left to bicker as they came back to the dining room.

"What were you guys fighting about?" Tommy asked when they sat down.

"Your mother is a cougar," Mr. Queen answered so the whole table could hear.

"No, I am not."

"Are to,"

"I guess you're right, because apparently I married a twelve year old."

"Who's he jealous of this time?" quipped Mrs. Harper.

Mrs. Queen enjoyed the look of betrayal on her husband's face. "Someone named Alexander Deering. Honestly, I gave him one compliment—"

"Two,"

"… Do you see what I'm dealing with here?"

"Ollie, you're such a child."

Mrs. Queen's phone chirped, signifying that all of the surveillance photos had uploaded.

"You gonna look?" challenged Mr. Queen.

"No," she responded innocently. "But I really want to text Sara. She's gonna _freak._"

"So this is a Fury thing then?" asked Connor.

"Is Alexander Deering a hot young assassin?" Penny questioned eagerly.

Lance had a much better question. "What does he have to do with Sara?"

The Queens looked at each other and the Mrs. shook her head. But her husband answered anyway.

"Alexander Deering was Nyssa's whore."

The scandalous word hopped around the table, accompanied by laughs and gasps and the questioning of Nyssa's sexuality.

"How old is he?!" most of the table asked.

"Barely legal," Mrs. Queen was pretty miffed that her husband so eagerly volunteered the information, however attractive she found his cocky grin.

Mr. Harper raised an eyebrow. "And you were checking him out?"

"I only complimented him—"

"Twice,"

She paused to kick her husband under the table. "And I didn't mean anything by it. I'm fully aware that I'm old enough to be his mother."

"And so was Nyssa." Mr. Queen added. "And she was probably fully aware of it herself."

Mrs. Queen opened her mouth to speak, but then she froze when something occurred to her. "Oh… you know what, you might be absolutely right. Not about this thing. I mean another thing. That thing you said that I didn't—never mind, I'll tell you later. Tommy, I'm going to need to talk to Damian after dinner."

"But Grandpa said you couldn't talk to Damian about League stuff."

"The League was massacred, so I don't think the rule stands." Everyone silently lost their shit, and Mrs. Queen chastised herself. "Forget you heard that. Tommy, I really need to talk to him."

"Yes, ma'am,"

"So," started Diggle with a clap of his hands. "Homicides, a whore, and a massacre; what's our next topic of discussion?"

"I've developed a more flexible Kevlar," offered Tommy.

"I made it half-way up the salmon ladder," Rosie said.

"I found a human tooth on the sidewalk today," stated Danny.

"Who saw the game last night?" Connor managed to steer the conversation in a normal direction for nearly ten whole minutes while Mrs. Queen surreptitiously observed the odd surveillance photos under the table.

_That is NOT how you kiss a prostitute_, she mused, noting the lack of lust in every photo.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Sinister Kid" by The Black Keys<strong>


	6. 100 Paces

As Tommy's best friend, Damian Wayne was afforded a certain amount of tolerance that an individual of his nature wouldn't otherwise deserve. His mouth was set in an obstinate, disrespectful twist upon seeing who had requested an audience.

"Hello, Damian." Mrs. Queen said to the obnoxious boy on the little screen.

Rather than return the greeting, he looked at her surroundings. "Is this that room full of photographs? I always thought it was a bit much."

She took a deep breath. "I need to ask you some questions concerning your Aunt Nyssa."

He crossed his arms. "You're forbidden from involving me in Fury business. Your father said so."

"Well tough shit, Dami," she snapped, using her interrogator voice. "I've got questions and you're the only one who can answer them."

He pouted in his unintentionally adorable way. "No, you're not allowed to use me against the League of Assassins—"

"There's no longer a League to use you against. Everyone was slaughtered in Nanda Parbat and then the place was torched."

His lips parted in shock. "How?"

"It wasn't the Furies, or any other government-funded organization."

"Of course not. None of them have the skill."

Mrs. Queen rolled her eyes. "The only clue we have is something Baqir said concerning Nyssa's death."

"She's _dead_?!"

"Baqir thought her shadow did it."

"That's a troubling use of past tense." he replied.

"Yeah, we killed him. It's what we do. Now can you explain who he was referring to?"

Damian was reluctant to share. "The one everyone referred to as Nyssa's shadow couldn't have done it. Baqir was wrong."

Curious, Mrs. Queen tilted her head to the side. "And why would you say that?"

"He was Nyssa's son."

"HA!"

Mrs. Queen flinched at the triumphant sound and turned to see her husband standing behind her, leaning over the back of the couch.

"I told you," he bragged, "but you didn't believe me."

Straight-faced, she blinked at him then returned her gaze to the screen.

"I'm about to send you a picture. Will you tell me if it's him?" A second later Alexander Deering's profile was sent, and Felicity watched his expression change from his default scowl to thinly veiled amusement. He continued to stare, his smile stretching until he was overtaken with laughter.

Mr. Queen cleared his throat. "So, is it him?"

"It's so convincing!" Damian exclaimed, mostly to himself as he fought for breath. "All this time I saw him as a vicious beast that delighted in the slaughter. But look at his dimples! _He had precious dimples!_ And apparently he knew how to tango!"

The Queens gave Damian a moment to revel in this discovery. In that time, Diggle showed up.

"Why is he laughing so hard?"

"Just sit down," Felicity said. "This is getting interesting."

The three of them waited for Damian to calm down before proceeding.

"Felicity, I think we nearly killed him."

"On the contrary," Damian countered with a silent chuckle, "that gave me life."

Mrs. Queen smirked. "So if that's Nyssa's son, that means she didn't buy a prostitute—"

"She bought an alias for her son to use when he traveled with her." Her husband finished.

"Nyssa pretended her son was her lover?" Diggle chimed in. "That's messed up."

"Clever though," Felicity responded. "Her son would be an ideal target for any enemy of Nyssa's. But who would target her whore? She could just get another one."

Damian nodded. "Clever indeed. She'd always promised him that one day she would allow him to leave Nanda Parbat. This must be what she had in mind when she took that exorbitant contract from the Comtesse. Nyssa wiped out all of her competition shortly before I left to live with my father, and this alias must've been part of the Comtesse's payment."

Felicity tilted her head, confused by his sudden expression. "You look a bit… bitter. Was there a rivalry?"

His eyes widened, almost in offense. "Rivalry? Between a true al Ghul and an abandoned baby my aunt took pity on? Don't be ridiculous."

"Awful lot of venom in your voice." she remarked coolly. "You sure there's no bad blood between you?"

"Oh, there is _plenty_." he snarled. The three sat back and waited for the rant. "I was forced to call him _cousin_. Can you believe the audacity? He bore our family name as if he had a right to it! He wielded my grandfather's sword! Not me, _him_! And my grandfather didn't even like him! Did you know that's why Nyssa killed him? Her own father? It was because he was wise enough to see that her son, her precious little _Noor,_ was making her soft. He poisoned Noor with Tibetan pit viper venom and he died—or didn't, only Nyssa knows and she never told anyone—"

"He _may or may not_ have _died?!"_ Diggle exclaimed under his breath.

"And they took their revenge on the Demon's Head together. My mother told me Noor beheaded my grandfather himself. It was his first kill _and he was allowed to keep that fucking sword._"

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "That was quite a while ago. How old was he then?"

Damian shook his head and rolled his eyes, as if Mr. Queen were missing the point. "Five, six, seven, somewhere around there. But they let him have the sword. Even after I was born he got to keep the sword."

"Yeah, okay, we got it," Diggle said.

"Do you mind if we circle back to the important question?" Felicity asked irritably. "So he was worse than an illegitimate son and Nyssa loved him and he got your stupid sword _we got it _but do you mind telling us why he couldn't have possibly killed Nyssa? I mean you called him a vicious beast."

Damian simmered down a little. "He was a monster, but he was _her _monster, and she kept him on a short leash. She was the only one he had any connection to. I'm sure she told him she was the only person he could trust, and she was probably right. Whenever she was home, he was always by her side. And whenever a league member broke a rule, he was the one to punish them, usually in front of everyone. Whenever someone committed an offense punishable by death, he was like a gladiator in an arena. He loved to entertain her. I saw him rip a man's spine out with these special gloves Nyssa had given him for his birthday. They had sharp metal points at the fingertips, like claws. I will admit I was quite jealous. He was spectacular with close-range weaponry."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "So you did respect him."

"As a killer, not as a human being."

"Fair enough,"

"You maintain that he was too devoted to Nyssa to kill her?"

"Mrs. Queen, Noor excelled at two things: pleasing his mother and treating murder as an art form. Noor is dead. He either died defending her, avenging her, or at his own hand after avenging her because he couldn't live without her."

The retired Fury studied him very carefully. "You sound so certain,"

"Trust me, I would not have laughed as I did upon seeing his alias if I thought otherwise. And, I suppose, it could be argued that Nyssa loved Noor more than my mother loves me. So yes, I am confident that their bond was too strong to be broken."

"By any betrayal?" Diggle asked.

"What betrayal could there be? I can't think of anything that could drive Noor to not only assist dissenters in destroying the League but also kill the only person he ever loved. I assure you, Baqir was wrong."

She sighed. "Well, if you're sure. Goodbye, Damian."

"Goodbye."

Ah, square one, you heinous bitch. Felicity stewed in frustration the rest of the night, even though Damian being right was probably a good thing. It was just dissenters; Nyssa's shadow wasn't a part of it. No big deal.

But why did Baqir jump to that conclusion? The thought tugged at her until she fell asleep.

She awoke to the sound of Oliver in distress. The clock glowed an unreasonable hour as she turned towards him.

"Another nightmare?" She gently stroked his arm. He sat up and tried to get his breathing under control. Oliver wouldn't look at her. "What was this one about?"

Ignoring her, he reached over to swipe her phone from her nightstand. The glowing screen illuminated the panic in his expression.

"Oliver, you're scaring me." she admitted quietly as she pressed closer, resting her chin on his shoulder so she could look at the phone. "Why are you looking at that?" His wife ran a comforting hand through his hair. "Did you have a nightmare about the big bad shadow?"

His eyes met hers, and she saw something hiding there. "It was just something Damian said."

"He made his cousin sound pretty scary."

Oliver shook his head and put her phone back. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's all right if you want to talk —"

"I'd rather sleep." He gave her a firm kiss on the cheek after pulling her into his embrace.

She lay there, snug in his arms, wondering what nightmare was too horrific to tell her about.

The next morning, it was evident that the effects of the nightmare hadn't worn off. Felicity watched her husband from across the table as she sipped her coffee. He was attempting small talk—about the kids, today's agenda, even the weather—and she answered appropriately, noting his lack of eye contact. It was so unlike him. Not that this behavior didn't have a hint of familiarity.

"What are you protecting me from?" she queried, making sure to keep the frustration out of her voice.

For a moment he seemed too busy with his scrambled eggs to answer. Then, finally, he responded. "What I always protect you from."

This sent a shiver down her spine, because she knew exactly what he was talking about. She laughed out of nervousness. "That's interesting. You haven't had to protect me from that in years."

"It was stupid." he said, gripping his mug. "Just a stupid dream. No need to bother you with it."

"And yet you're so shaken," she prodded. Felicity wasn't even sure _why_ she was pushing for the information; she knew it would likely hurt to hear it.

Her husband sighed, his jaw tensing. "It… was something Damian said. About his cousin being abandoned as a baby."

"And what did your subconscious figure out?"

Oliver stalled by taking a long sip of his coffee. "It figured out a possible reason for Nyssa's son to kill her." He leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "Felicity, what if he found out he hadn't been abandoned?"

It was like standing in front of a train, knowing it would hurt but not being prepared for the pain when it finally hit. She'd hoped he would say something different than what she'd anticipated: that he would've arrived at a different conclusion. Her stomach lurched, her old wounds threatening to burst open. She took a deep breath and fought to maintain a steady voice.

"I suppose if he'd been told his whole life that he'd been abandoned only to discover he'd actually been taken from a family that loved him…" There were almost tears, but she stopped them by pressing her nail into her palm. "I can see how that could upset someone to the point of homicide. Being raised a monster and finding out you were supposed to have been raised a prince. I understand now why you wanted to see his picture again. I can see the resemblance."

He took her hand, frightened by her sudden paleness. "It's a stretch,"

"Absolutely," she replied eagerly, adjusting her glasses. "Completely circumstantial."

"Not worth a second thought."

Tears were brimming, and her nervous laugh was back. "But if a mysterious new vigilante shows up in Starling, we might have to reconsider."

Her nervous laugh was contagious. "Of course. Because that's what we do in this family."

"If you're missing and presumed dead, you come back to Starling City years later and kick major ass."

Their laughter was almost jovial. It was kind of unsettling. "I did it, Sara did it, my buddy Tommy did it… It's tradition!"

Once the laughter died down, their smiles were difficult to keep on.

"Well, I have errands to run," She gingerly slipped her hand out of his. "I should go get ready."

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm fine," she lied as she hurried out.

Felicity barely made it to the nursery before the tears came. It was one thing to share nightmares of what is and what could be, but _that…_

The door safely closed, she wandered around the room. Her fingers danced along the top of the crib, swiped at the mobile, slid across that soft blue baby blanket…It had been so long since she'd been in here. Ever since Tommy had outgrown it, everything had remained pristine and untouched. The handmade baby blankets of her three children hung folded on the side of the crib, two a bit worn and one brand new. She picked the latter up and rubbed the monogramed name with her thumb.

She used to spend a lot of time in here, holding this blanket. It brought back a lot of memories. Bad ones, mostly. All that false hope people had dragged her and Oliver through—the schemers with their changelings or bogus ransom demands, the dead-end leads—had left her broken. Deep down, despite what her dreams occasionally suggested or how she felt about that tombstone, she believed her baby was dead. Just like everyone else secretly assumed. In some ways, it hurt less. It protected her from disappointment.

Pressing her face into the blanket, she screamed. That monster was not her baby. He didn't kill Nyssa because he found out Felicity was his real mother. He may have Oliver's slight widow's peak and his strong jaw and his hair and his brows but he wasn't her baby.

Her baby was never coming home.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Crazy" by The Kills<strong>

**The next 3 or 4 chapters will be flashbacks to this fic's version of Season 2.**


	7. Postpartum

** I think it's time for a flashback, because you need to see how bad it got. This takes place between "Suicide Squad" and "Birds of Prey."**

* * *

><p>Fighting seemed to be the only way Felicity could get Oliver to talk to her anymore. He was always short with his answers and avoided eye contact, but at least he talked to her. In the beginning he was at the office <em>so<em> much with Jensen as his EA and that wicked velociraptor Rochev. But even after Felicity pushed her way into the EA position (she _knew_ he needed her, and Rochev would surely try to get her claws in him) it was like he was afraid to be around her. Like looking at her brought up only bad memories.

But she endured. Even when Sara's bold presence made her feel insecure. Even when she saw Oliver speaking with Rochev. Even though she was the ghost of the woman he married, with her natural brown hair streaked with stress-induced gray. Felicity would look at her ring and tell herself everything would be fine.

Being friends with Barry had helped, however brief that was. And she had Thea, Laurel, Sara (sort of), very protective Roy (who had his own problems to deal with) and of course Diggle. And Moira. Moira helped so much. She knew well what she was feeling and taught her how to be strong. How to be Mrs. Queen.

So despite the nightmares and changelings and ransom schemes and slander and everything else, she thought that she might eventually be okay.

But still, a girl can only take so much.

"You are being way too harsh on her." Felicity asserted. She and Oliver were alone in the lair, exactly how he didn't prefer it. She could tell he was itching to leave but she wouldn't let him just yet. "And in some ways a little hypocritical."

"_Hypocritical?"_ He briefly made eye contact. What a victory for her. "She _lied_. Just like she always does. I can't believe you're defending her."

"How often do you lie? Anyway, think about it. She refuses to tell Thea. And when I tell _you_ because I think you and your mother should tell Thea before she finds out from the wrong source, you get mad at your mom_ but keep the secret from Thea as well_. Honestly, I understand why she kept it until now but if she's running for mayor _someone_ will find out. So better Thea hear it from her family. Anyway, quit being pissed at your mom."

"This is about the fact that I can't trust her." he seethed.

"I know she's a dubious she-devil and I trust her just fine. Oliver, I don't think you understand. She's scared, okay? She's terrified. She just wants to protect you and Thea. And when would have been the right time to tell Thea? Hmm? When? Because it probably would've been terrible if Malcolm had had a chance to be her father. And now? She is the last Merlyn and the city is still thirsty for blood. So maybe you should forgive her reluctance."

He was silent, which made her eager to keep the argument going.

"Does this have to do with the fact that your mother cheated on your father?" Oliver stared at her, and she was grateful for the reaction. "Well your father did it repeatedly, okay? So excuse Moira for losing her self-esteem and falling into the arms of a widower who actually gave a damn about her. She was crushed and lonely and even a little bit worried of how much you might take after him. Being cheated on _sucked_ so you're just going to have to forgive her for having a vulnerable moment."

Oliver looked away uncomfortably, his arms folded. "I'll, uh… I'll consider having a talk with her." Then he kissed her on the cheek, something he hardly ever did, before clanging up the stairs.

Felicity froze in confusion, wondering why that felt so off. It… no, she wasn't going down that road again. No, he married _her_. That meant something. And he wasn't like that anymore. And not with Sara. Especially not with Sara. Not only did she have a bad history with Oliver, but she'd also bonded with Felicity to a significant degree. So how supremely fucked up would that be? Very supremely fucked up.

Her French-manicured nails clicked on the desk as she resisted the urge to check security footage. But of course what would that yield? She'd told the whole team she was installing cameras, and it was encouraged because she needed to keep busy. So no way would there be anything scandalous on them.

She sat down and woke up the computer, the monitors glowing. It wouldn't hurt to look, now would it? The footage was rewinding at double speed. She was simply curious as to why Oliver and Sara had been giving off a strange vibe lately. It could be nothing.

Or she could find exactly what she'd been afraid of.

How could he have forgotten about the security cameras?

It was looped. She left those incriminating seconds playing on repeat and he, Sara, and Diggle saw it when they entered the lair. Once Diggle understood what he was seeing and why he was seeing it, he very nearly decked him. Very nearly. Sara kept it from happening. There was yelling and half-assed explanations and a few accusations, but all Oliver remembered was a deeply-rooted sense of loss and the feeling that someone had hollowed out his chest had filled it with rocks.

He hurried back to his house on his Ducati. Maybe she was still there. Maybe if she screamed and cried and hit him enough then she wouldn't leave. He was so sorry. He was weak and stupid and he was _so sorry_.

She wasn't there. His mother was though, wearing the cold glare that Felicity could now imitate flawlessly.

"Where is she?" he growled, hating the look on her face.

She took her time to answer, unfazed by his anger. "I promised not to tell. And I suggest that you don't go looking for her."

"She's my wife! I need to—"

"You need to shut your mouth and listen to me." she demanded, raising her voice as she stepped into his personal space. "You weren't there for Felicity. You busied yourself at the office so you wouldn't have to see your wife in a catatonic state. You wouldn't sleep in the same bed with her because of her night terrors. You can barely _look_ at her anymore let alone talk to her. _We_ are the ones who've been here for her: Diggle, Roy, Thea, Laurel, Detective Lance—even Walter has spent time with her when he visits to work on my campaign. And of course you know how strong my relationship with her is. But where have you been? Where the hell have you been, when you should've been grieving with your wife?"

"Why would she want me anymore?" he barked, then his voice softened until it broke. "I have spent this entire time waiting for her to realize this is all my fault. I don't know what I'm going to do when I look in her eyes and finally see the resentment she deserves to feel toward me."

"Oh, so that's it," Moira said, unmoved. "Well it certainly seems that you went about it the wrong way, now doesn't it?" She sighed. "You self-absorbed brat. That stupid fear of yours does not give you license to betray your already fragile wife. Now I'm about to have a rare moment of pure honesty so I suggest you pay close attention."

Teary-eyed, Oliver lifted his head to look at his mother. "I'm listening."

"You fucked up." she stated. "I don't know when Felicity will come back, if ever. Because she is not just hurt, Oliver. She is furious. If she does come back, I suggest you get on your knees and grovel just in case she plans to kill you. And if you ever cheat on her again, so help me I will avenge her myself."

Oliver was then left to process the magnitude of what he had done and hope there was a way back from it.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Tusk" by Fleetwood Mac.<strong>


	8. Hell hath No Fury

Slade Wilson had spent five years plotting the complete and total destruction of Oliver Queen. Despite his plan's perfection, he found that it had the capacity to be improved. Before he'd gotten his hands on that slimy, squalling newborn, he'd had no insurance policy. Now, even if anything were to go wrong, Slade could still hold tightly to the fact that Oliver's firstborn was slowly but surely being turned into a monster. The thought always made him feel warm inside.

As if that weren't wonderful enough, Oliver's fragile wife had turned against him. He'd seen her on his screen, weeping as she packed her things and telling Moira why she was leaving. Involving Oliver's heartbroken wife in the scheming was an ideal adjustment to his plan.

Mapleville was such a charming little town, he noted on his cab ride to the Smoaks' house. He wondered if the quiet was doing anything to help the grieving woman recover. The cab stopped at 7 Violet Lane, a house at the far end of a cul-de-sac. Slade stepped out of the cab and took a second to survey the pale blue colonial, with its white picket fence and precious little lawn gnomes in the manicured front yard. Once he paid the driver, he sauntered up the footpath made of colorful mosaic tiles and rang the doorbell.

The door opened slowly, creaking softly as it revealed a disheveled young woman with gray in her hair. A stretched-out brown sweater hung on her small frame and her baggy sweatpants were almost big enough to hide her bare feet. She chewed on her thumbnail absentmindedly while she studied him with lifeless, red-rimmed blue eyes. The poor thing must've been crying all day.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked, her voice hollow and muffled by her fist. "It's about time."

This was going to be so fucking easy.

"I haven't come here to harm you," he said gently. "You've clearly suffered enough. I was hoping you and I could talk. Perhaps you and I could figure out what to do about your husband."

Her lips curled into a fleeting smile, her fist obscuring it. But the sudden light in her eyes was obvious. "Really?" she said quietly with a hint of excitement. "You want my help?"

He nodded, smirking. There was a subtle determination in her expression, as if she'd finally found something to give her strength.

"Would you like to come in?"

The house was quaint but dated, very grandma-living-in-a-cottage-esque. The floral wallpaper was a different print in every room and the sofa had a quilt hung over the back. He didn't notice the doilies on the arms until he sat down. Felicity took a seat across from him, balling herself up in the overstuffed old armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then she winced as if she just remembered something. "Um, would you like something to drink? I should've asked before sitting down. Or snickerdoodles. My mom made snickerdoodles. They're supposed to be for after dinner, but I'm sure it's—"

"I'm fine, thank you," It was almost embarrassing how easy of a target she was. "I'm eager to get down to business. I'm glad to find someone who understands what kind of man Oliver Queen is. Why he deserves to suffer."

"I wish I'd known before I married him," she remarked bitterly. "Or better yet, before he knocked me up." Then her brow furrowed. "Have you been doing all of this alone? Is that why you want me?"

"I have associates with their own reasons, but neither of theirs truly aligns with mine. Neither of them have your level of empathy. Though I suppose Isabel Rochev understands my loss to some degree. She blames the Queen family for Robert leaving her."

Comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh… I already knew about the affair, but… that makes sense."

"Sebastian Blood, on the other hand, wants to destroy Starling so that he may rebuild it, make it stronger than it was."

Felicity nodded, her face scrunched in deep thought. "The Mirakuru soldiers. I get it now."

"And you," Slade rose from his seat to kneel at her side. "Look at what Oliver Queen has done to you. He deserves to suffer in every way possible."

Tears brimmed Felicity's eyes, and she whimpered. "Mr. Wilson?"

"Slade, please,"

"Did you, um… was it you?" she sobbed. "Did you have anything to do with what happened to my baby?"

He put his hand on hers. "I assure you, I was not involved." he said with practiced conviction. "Had I ever targeted your son, I wouldn't have simply taken him. I admit I wouldn't have restricted myself to that level of subtlety." His grip on her tightened consolingly. "I simply would've left his body for your husband to find."

She cried a bit more, but she definitely bought it. Seconds later, her parents walked into the living room, looking confused and worried.

"Flick?" said her father, startling her. "Honey, why is this man in the house?"

Felicity frantically wiped her eyes and nose with her sweater sleeve. "It's okay. Really. He's a friend."

"Well maybe your friend should leave now. You seem very upset." fretted her mother.

"Excuse me for a second." she mumbled to Slade before getting up and herding her parents out of the room, her pleas for them to go back to cleaning the garage fading as she ushered them down the hallway.

Slade went back to the couch and waited. A smile crept on his face as he imagined all the potential in having Oliver's wife on his side. Everything was falling into place.

"Is there a problem?" Slade called as he heard her footsteps. "Perhaps we should have this conversation elsewhere."

She appeared in the doorway. "Hmm? Oh, no, we won't be interrupted again."

Slade gazed at her face, pleased to see she looked stronger already. His offer must've given her hope. He hadn't even noticed that her hands were behind her back.

A bullet was buried in Slade's kneecap before he could even process what was going on. He stared dumbly at the enormous Desert Eagle in Felicity's hands as the pain overtook him. She shot his other kneecap just as a scream rose in his throat.

Slade sat there in unexpected agony; his hands shaking as he gingerly touched his wounds. He wasn't used to bullets hurting so much.

"I have five bullets left," stated Felicity, a fierce glint in her eye. "I bet you're wondering if I can make them count."

"I offered to help you," he hissed, his voice quiet and hoarse.

"No," she rebutted angrily, "you tried to take advantage of my vulnerability and desperation, just like everyone else. The con artists, the media… You're all trying to turn my tragedy into an opportunity. You thought I would actually want to be on your side because Oliver hurt me and it's fucking insulting." She fired another shot, then another, one for each shoulder. He fell to his side, screaming.

"I know about Shado, and it's fucking ridiculous. Even with Oliver's everything-is-always-my-fault angle it was pretty clear that Ivo planned to kill Shado and make it look like Oliver had a choice in it. Even if that weren't the case, you're still a petty old bastard who can't get over losing his woman. Doesn't make it okay to wipe out an entire city."

"You ungrateful bitch," Slade croaked, unable to move except for his involuntary shaking. Why did the bullets fucking hurt so much? "He betrayed you. All he'll ever do is betray you. He's the reason you lost your son—"

A bullet in the gut. Another scream. "Do you honestly think I'm stupid enough to believe that? By the way, the last two are going in your head."

"No!" he roared, trying to move. "I will not die at the hands of Oliver Queen's broken little wife! I will gut you in front of him and watch as he weeps over your mangled corpse! This is not how I will die! This is not—"

Felicity put his misogynistic bullshit to rest with the two remaining bullets. After making sure he was dead (she poked him repeatedly with a broom handle), she called for her parents, who helped her roll him onto the couch quilt and drag him into the garage.

She was gone for four days. Four whole days that the team had probably spent worrying about her. That probably should've made her feel guilty, but she was too angry to care. It wasn't like they weren't always worrying about her anyway.

Thankfully, Moira was the only one home when she arrived. When Felicity told her she needed to go see Oliver, her mother-in-law refused to let her leave without cleaning up a bit.

Red. She needed to wear red, Moira insisted. She'd bought her a dress to suit the occasion, when and if she came back. The violent shade and fitted style certainly made it appropriate. It was odd to wear color after such a long time, especially the bold red lipstick.

The outfit, right down to the hazardous stilettos, was helpfully empowering as she clicked down the stairs carrying her purse and picnic basket. Oliver, Sara, and Diggle were sparring and Roy was practicing archery, so no one saw her until she sat down in her chair, the basket in her lap.

She didn't know a double take could be done collectively, but that's what happened.

"Hello," she greeted brightly. Was it wrong of her to like that Oliver and Sara were scared?

"You look like you're feeling better," Roy said, beaming as he walked over to her. She stood up to hug him. "So… what's with the dress? And the wicker suitcase… tiny trunk… thing?"

"It's a picnic basket." Felicity grabbed his face and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. "And I'm going to need you to keep your Mirakuru temper under control because shit's about to go down." Roy looked at Diggle questioningly as she sashayed over to Oliver with the picnic basket in hand.

"Felicity, I'm so sorry," he said earnestly, taking her gently by the shoulders. "I was so afraid you'd never come back."

"Which is surprising because you've been avoiding me ever since we lost our son." she responded caustically, her eyes boring into his. Her words sucked the oxygen out of the room; it had been an unspoken rule that no one ever brought up Robbie. "And from what I can tell, you don't even love me anymore."

Oliver crumbled a little. "That's not—"

"It's understandable, of course. I mean, look at me." She took a step back. "I'm not the woman you married. I'm just her empty, graying husk. Your Felicity died on October 9th and I don't think she is ever coming back." Her vision blurred behind her glasses and she blinked them away. She didn't want to cry in front of him.

But Oliver had slightly less pride. She could see the tears forming. "No, I still love you. I love you so much—"

"Then why did you cheat on me?" she shouted, backhanding him. He stared at her in shock. "I am trying so hard! I promise I am! But I am stuck in a fucking briar patch because of all the shit that's going on! The media is still spreading rumors about me and con artists keeping showing up with their changeling babies and psychos send us ransom notes claiming they have our son _and you won't talk to me_." She couldn't stop the tears now. Then she said in a small, broken voice, "It would've been so much easier if it had been me."

Oliver wiped at her tears. "What are you talking about?" he asked in a frightened tone. Roy stared daggers at a guilty Sara while Diggle listened intently to the quieted conversation.

"If you had saved Robbie instead of me, it would've been easier for everyone."

"Don't talk like that," Oliver begged, hugging her close to his bare chest. "I never want to lose you."

"Then why do you keep pushing me away, you fucktard?" she asked, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Why don't you blame me for losing Robbie?"

"What?" Felicity looked up at him in annoyance. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Seriously? I don't blame you because it's not your fault, you fucking imbecile!"

"Told you," Diggle voiced.

"I'm the reason they went after you in the first place," Oliver argued, ignoring his bodyguard.

"That snitch is the reason they went after me. You're the reason I didn't die of blood loss. Diggle, can you believe how dumb he is? He's so dumb. Oliver, a heartless, vindictive piece of shit is to blame for us losing Robbie. They cut his umbilical cord and took him from my arms as I sat on a dirty concrete floor in an expanding pool of my own blood. That is who I resent. And when I find who did it I'm going to make what I did to Slade look humane."

"Wait, what?" Oliver said with a blink.

"By the way, you cheated on me. I know you've been vulnerable and dealing with a lot but that is unacceptable."

"He's not totally to blame," Sara chimed in, taking a few steps closer.

"Fuck off, Sara. I'll deal with you in a minute." Felicity snarled, still holding Oliver's waist. Sara took a step back. Roy looked on proudly.

"The security footage showed that you made out with her." she said, returning her attention to her husband. "Then you two moved to a blind spot. Did you do anything more?"

"No," Oliver and Sara insisted simultaneously.

"We realized it was wrong and then we stopped," Oliver elaborated. "I promise."

"And while we're in the general vicinity of the subject, did you bring Jensen to Moscow instead of me so you could get away with screwing Isabel?"

"Uh…Isabel and I got very friendly…" Oliver admitted. Felicity leaned back and eyed him suspiciously. "Then Jensen cock-blocked me so hard that the shock wave forced all of the sexual tension out of the room."

"It's true," Diggle confirmed with a smirk.

"Thank goodness," Felicity said, sighing. "Because Rochev's evil and working for Slade."

Oliver gawked at her.

"I have a feeling you're burying the lead here," noted Diggle.

"And I'm beginning to think that we're not going on a picnic," Roy mumbled.

"Anyway," said Felicity sternly, trying to stay on topic. "Don't you ever cheat on me again, is that understood? Because I will not put up with it."

"I understand."

"Good." She gave him a clap on the pec and nodded. "I expect very excellent make-up sex tonight."

"I promise you'll get it."

"Great." Then she marched across the room to Sara. "Now it's your turn."

"I am so, so sorry—"

"I took a fucking bullet for you, bitch." Felicity snapped. "And we bonded. Even though you made me feel insecure, I still allowed myself to get attached to you. Do you only find him attractive when he's with someone else?"

Ouch. "It was right after Laurel blew up at me."

"She had a lot of justified unresolved anger towards you. You should've taken it like an adult instead of fooling around with my husband."

"We regretted it immediately," Sara said with sincerity. "I never wanted to hurt you. Please don't hate me."

Felicity crossed her arms and eyed her. "Promise to keep your slutty little hands off Oliver?"

"Absolutely,"

"Apology accepted." Then she gestured for her to come closer. "Let's hug it out."

But Sara was reluctant. "Really?"

"Give me a fucking hug, Sara."

When she did, Felicity whispered in her ear: "You seriously better not touch him again, Sara. You're an assassin and I'm a fourth-generation Fury and I will put you down."

"Oh, shit," She didn't know about the Smoak family business. "Okay."

Felicity let go. "Now that that's settled, I should get going. Thea insists we go get mani-pedis." She rushed back to her husband to give him a firm goodbye kiss.

"Felicity, what's in the basket?" demanded Diggle as he crossed his big meaty arms.

"Slade's head in a jar." Despite her serious tone, they all smirked in disbelief. She shrugged it off of course, their shared reaction being completely understandable. Then she pulled the massive Desert Eagle from her purse and handed it to Diggle. "For you. Loaded with .60 caliber bullets laced with cyanide, curare, and a few different venoms. Works great against mirakuru soldiers."

"…Thanks." he responded, his brow furrowed. As she ascended the steps, the team slowly turned to look at the picnic basket.

* * *

><p><strong>"Up Past the Nursery" by Suuns.<strong>

**The flashbacks don't end here! There should be a couple more coming up. **


	9. Watch the Queens Conquer

"What's that on your neck, dear?"

Felicity blinked dazedly as Moira's question pulled her from her musings. She set her mimosa on the table and touched the bruise below her jaw. "This?" She couldn't keep a small smile from her face. The mere memory made her warm all over.

"It looks like Oliver apologized,"

"A few times, yes."

"Good. I hope he got down on his knees and begged."

"He got down on his knees but it wasn't to beg."

The always-poised Mrs. Queen nearly choked on her mimosa and had to smack the table in order to regain her composure.

Felicity took a tentative sip. "Sorry,"

Moira coughed a bit. "I suppose I walked right into that one."

"Okay, new subject." But after the words formed in her mind, they got caught in her throat. She twisted the thin stem of the glass between her fingers before continuing. "I need to talk to you about Rochev."

"Ah yes, my husband's soulmate. What about her?"

"She wants to destroy the Queens, and the city along with us if that's what it takes. Slade told me."

Moira leaned forward. "Slade? Wilson? What would he know about her?"

"He…" How upset would Oliver be? This wasn't technically about his secret. "He was with Oliver on the island. He had big plans to hurt Oliver in every way possible and he enlisted Rochev's help to do it. Mine too, actually. But instead of joining him I shot him and pickled his head in a jar."

Her mother-in-law stared for a long time. Then she sat back in her chair and took a swig of her drink. "Which means Rochev's next on your list?"

"I thought you'd want to help me take her down." Moira was very hard to read. Either she was disapproving or eager to help. "…I could probably find a way to land her in jail—"

"Do you honestly think prison will stop that rapacious hellbeast? Darling, I will settle for nothing less than her head on a pike. And do you know why?"

"Because she stole your husband and is now threatening your children?"

"And she tried to fuck my son and take over my family's company. Let's put this bitch in the ground."

Felicity shrugged. "Yeah, all right then."

Moira raised her glass. "To offing the mistress."

"To family,"

"That too," Their glasses clinked and the homicidal socialites resumed their brunch.

A hush fell over the lobby as the two Mrs. Queens entered the building. Passersby greeted them nervously, too intimidated to make eye contact.

"You look worried," Felicity noticed once they were in the executive elevator. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"Absolutely not." she replied firmly, casting a furtive glance as Felicity's black leather gloves. "I just hope you're being careful."

The elevator dinged and the women stepped out. The clicking of their heels announced their arrival and Isabel looked up from her desk in mild surprise. She stood up and met them in the middle of her office.

"It's nice to see the two of you," she lied, studying Felicity's grayscale outfit before eyeing her hair. "Gray is certainly your color, isn't it?"

It was lucky that when Felicity flashed her a warm smile, Rochev failed to notice the briefest note of wrath in her eyes.

"We're here to call a truce."

"A truce?" Isabel's kind smile seemed somehow vicious, especially with the soft laugh that accompanied it. "I didn't know we were at war."

"It's been a cold war, dear," Moira stepped in gracefully. "But now we have a common enemy."

Rochev was both intrigued and suspicious. "Who?"

Felicity's jaw tensed. "Let's just say we support your endeavors concerning this company."

"My son is too… unreliable to run Queen Consolidated."

"To the point of being undeserving." Felicity added with barely contained bitterness.

The gears were clearly turning as Rochev studied the two Queens. She crossed her arms and slowly approached them. "He must've done something terrible to inspire such a loss of loyalty."

Felicity's features were turning hard as stone. "He proved to be his father's son."

"Which is a trespass I'm finding difficult to forgive." Moira admitted.

Isabel looked… Well, it was hard to tell. She was keeping her emotions in check but as best as the Queens could tell she was surreptitiously triumphant.

Felicity mustered up a subtle smile. "I'll convince Oliver to temporarily grant you full control of the company while he makes time to work on our marriage. Then in the end we can both get what we want."

Isabel's eyes narrowed, a fearsome smirk rupturing on her face. "And what do we want?"

The young Mrs. Queen frowned, feigning confusion as she delivered her answer: "Why, money, power, and vengeance of course."

Finally united, the two said goodbye with cheek kisses and pats on the back like old friends. Felicity made sure to hold her hand in thanks before leaving, her palm "absentmindedly" brushing the exposed paper cut she "accidentally" gave Isabel the day before.

When they finally got back in the Bentley, Moira let out a breath as if she hadn't breathed since stepping onto the elevator. "Now take those things off!"

Felicity was already removing the leather gloves carefully and dropping them in a hazmat bag. Moira then took out the can of Lysol she'd brought along and proceeded to disinfect the car and everyone in it.

"The hell is going on back there?" sputtered Diggle from the driver's seat as the women coughed and gagged. "What's wrong with those gloves?"

Felicity watched as Moira opened the bag and attacked the gloves with Lysol.

"Nothing's wrong with them." Felicity responded innocently.

Diggle eyed her. "What did you do?"

"Talked to Rochev, just like we told you we would."

"Yes, and it was a lovely conversation." Moira said, backing her up as she sealed the bag. "Now, Mr. Diggle, I believe we have lunch reservations at Table Salt. We should get going."

Diggle observed the two poised, most likely murderous ladies in the back seat and sighed. "Something tells me you're stuck in the anger stage of the grieving process."

"You're damn fucking right I am," Felicity replied calmly, "and I'm channeling it into something productive. I won't stand by and watch these psychopathic shitheads go after my husband and family and they sure as hell won't get away with threatening a city full of people."

"Nobody fucks with the Queens, dear," Moira stated with the same strange level of composure.

"Yes, exactly!" Felicity smiled as she placed a grateful hand on Moira's forearm. "Eloquently put."

Diggle turned around and started the car, eager to get out of the suddenly unnerving parking garage. "Damn, when did you people turn into the mafia?" he muttered as the engine rumbled.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Veni Vidi Vici" by Black Lips<strong>

**Flashbacks aren't done yet!**

**By the way, this site doesn't allow web addresses, in case you haven't noticed. So for my friend who is trying to get in touch with me via Tumblr (sorry readers but this is literally the only way I can contact her right now) my Tumblr name is Malformed Potato.**


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